As we left the airport, weary travelers indeed – traveling since early Monday morning and now it was Tuesday around 11am Israel time – we boarded a bus that took us into the heart of the city of Tel Aviv (literally meaning old and new – Wikipedia says “Aviv is Hebrew for ‘spring’, symbolizing renewal, and tel is an artificial mound created over centuries through the accumulation of successive layers of civilization built one over the other and symbolizing the ancient.”). I encourage you to read more; visit https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tel_Aviv – built just outside the walls of the ancient port city of Jaffa (a.k.a. Jappa and also many other names – what I am learning is that cities in Israel have (had) many names and that biblically, city names change and/or are translated differently based on which translation of the Bible you are using).
Until now, I have been completely oblivious to the rich history of the city of Tel Aviv – so many beautiful stories that created and are still creating its grand story – Tel Aviv is a very modern, bustling city, holding people, culture, and language of all kinds. It is important to note that it is here where Hebrew is a main language and that was very intentional by the 66 founding families. There is much more to this part of the story. I will not share it in this post, but perhaps in a later post when I return and set time apart to come back to Tel Aviv’s beginnings.
In Tel Aviv, historic buildings are juxtaposed with the new. As you stand in its streets and take in the sounds, smells, and sights, you quickly realize that the word “tel” could not be a more accurate description – from the time the 66 families began building the city to now, it is still “building one over the other” and carrying the ancient into the present and future of times.
Regarding the time we will have together here, Rabbi Brad spoke these words to us atop the Mount of Olives: “You are not a spectator, you are a co-creator.” Leaving Tel Aviv, we traveled about an hour and half and arrived atop the Mount of Olives.
Side note: Our group is made up of mostly clergy of various Christian denominations. There are about 30 of us if you include our leaders (Rabbi Josh, Rabbi Brad, Rev. Brian, our “tour guide” and teacher, Gary, and our driver, Amir.) In The Holy Land, ”driver” isn’t just some random person, but instead, looked upon as a sacred part of one’s journeys here. Rabbi Brad spoke to us, half-jokingly, but also with some seriousness, comparing Amir to Elijah – a prophet of Israel from the Hebrew scriptures (The Old Testament) whom God sent to guide the people and keep them safe. I really appreciated this and my thought was that maybe all drivers should be thought more of in this way…
On the Mount of Olives, we had taken seats on stone steps that were built into the shape of a miniature amphitheater and facing the city of Jerusalem. The context of our dialogue included the question Rabbi Brad had asked us, “what do you see (as we look out to our right and to our left)?” An answer that had bubbled up from the group mentioned that it felt as if we are spectators looking out/into the lives of those living in the city (Jerusalem) below. Rabbi Brad’s response struck something very visceral in me – “you are not spectators, you are now co-creators” — this was not going to just be an educational trip with lofty academics telling us what we were looking at each time we stopped. We were not going to be tourists consuming the landscapes and the culture. We were now part of the story of this place and time – we are co-creators. From where we were sitting, our tour guide/teacher, Gary, eventually did point out to us what we could see from where we were sitting – The Temple Mount (from where Jesus taught so many times), the Garden of Gethsemane, the place where The Last Supper took place, the place where Jesus was imprisoned and questioned by Pilot, where Jesus was crucified, and where Jesus ascended. As Gary was talking, Rabbi Brad’s words washed over me – now we were all physically connected to Jesus’ steps, breathing in the same ocean air that Jesus did, looking out over the city as Jesus did, perhaps even sitting where Jesus stopped during his hike up the Mount to pray –
In the week before Jesus’ crucifixion, Jesus visited the Mount of Olives three times: It is where Jesus came down from, entering into Jerusalem on a donkey (Zechariah 9:9; Luke 19:37-38); it was here, in the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus was explaining to His disciples what was to come (Mark 14:32-38), and it was here where Jesus was with His disciples the night he was betrayed (Matthew 26:36-46; Mark 14:32-42; Luke 22:39-46; John 18:1).
Driving up the Mount of Olives, on one side you see a desert that goes out into the horizon as if it has no ending point – desolate, tans and browns, sand and dunes, mysterious – if one entered, you could simply disappear forever from everyone and everything; when you look opposite, you see down into the city of Jerusalem – lush and green, birds and other wildlife, buzzing bugs and feral cats, and looking further, you see winding city streets, walls upon walls, buildings jutting out toward the blue hazy skies…civilization…I realized that Jesus could have easily left the Mount of Olives to the other side and walked into the desert, never having to endure what was coming in the days ahead, but He didn’t. He went back into the city each time, and the final time to what He knew would be a horrible, painful, humiliating death.
Side note here: it is no small hike. Before being here, I had a hard time imagining it; now I realize how truly set apart it is from the city of Jerusalem and how the distance and terrain from the city of Jerusalem to the top of the Mount of Olives is no small thing. Coming up the Mount, even by bus as we were, you feel the gravity – the weight of the climb – and just when you thought you were to the top, there was more distance to go.
I feel connected more than ever before to an understanding of why Jesus left the city to pray. As a pastor, I know that time set apart is vital. That understanding is certainly a part of our Seminary training and it is strongly reinforced by all continuing education we receive as pastors. Time set apart for prayer, quiet contemplation, reading, and writing is essential for and to ministry – I know this, and yet, I rarely carve this time out for just myself, always feeling rushed, pressed, or selfish about it. It is clear to me now that Jesus’ example of setting/taking time apart isn’t just a suggestion nor is it a side story, nor is it easy to come by; it is central to the story and you may have to make a long climb to get time set apart. It is a message for all of us across time and space. We must set time apart even if that is difficult to do; it is not selfish, and when we feel rushed or pressed, we need to lean into Jesus’ example, for it is The Way.
Leave a Reply